


That Session

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Danny continues to be grumpy but ultimately really supportive, Gen, Grief, Steve continues to take steps in the right direction, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: Everybody in therapy has That Session When You Finally Cry. Today it’s Steve’s turn.Set shortly after 5x19 and sort of a follow-up to my ficTruth or Dare, but you don’t really have to read that first.





	That Session

It’s familiar, by now, Steve thinks: the path through the other office suites up to Dr. Carlin’s office, the sandy carpet, the shelves of self-help books. Familiar, and yet it feels different this time. They’d missed their appointment two weeks ago, what with Danny being imprisoned in Colombia and that whole debacle, and so the last time he was here was nearly a full month ago.

That’s not what makes it different, though. What makes it different is the fact that their last session sort of bled over into the real world, which Steve supposes is the point, though he’s guessing it wasn’t meant to take the form of him and Danny playing drinking games until Steve, buzzed on whiskey, told Danny everything he’d been holding back. About how much he’d been hurting recently. About how much harder it was too kept the tethers down around that hurt, ever since his abduction by Wo Fat. He hadn’t cried, not really, but he’d gotten kind of sniffly and they’d hugged, and he’d more or less fallen asleep on Danny’s shoulder.

And then the Colombia thing happened. And it’s not like Steve’s shit got any better, but it had been shoved on the back burner-- fine, honestly, that was its usual place anyway.

And _then_ , Eran. The basement, the photographs. And now Steve hasn’t slept more than ten hours total in the last three days; he hasn’t eaten much either. And he’s been crying. _Fuck_ , but he’s been crying, _aching_ , sitting out for hours every night watching the waves hit the sand, just thinking about those dirty little faces.

It’s been months since Wo Fat, and he’s more of a mess than ever.

So yeah, maybe therapy is a familiar thing but still it’s got him on edge today. All those sessions he and Danny spent just griping at each other-- it feels like this whole thing has outgrown those now, but Steve just doesn’t have the energy for whatever else is going to happen today. He’s tired, beat up from the inside out. And at his side Danny’s beat up from the outside in, just one big walking bruise.

But neither of them, of course, is the type to turn tail.

So they go in, and sit. Make pleasantries while Carlin settles in her chair, opens their file.

“Well, gentlemen,” she says, after the small talk lags. “If I recall correctly we missed our last session, so it’s been four weeks since last we met. Anything of note?”

“Anything of note?” Danny echoes, and Steve snorts. This didn’t take long. He peeks over at Danny, who’s gearing up.

“Yeah, I was, uh,” Danny starts. “I was extradited to Colombia and imprisoned for killing a drug lord. Hence the missed session.”

“Why did you kill the drug lord?”

“Did you not hear me say drug lord? Remember how I’m a cop?”

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about why you killed the drug lord. That’s fine.” Carlin crosses one leg over the other. “Why was it a problem? Seems like it should be a good thing.”

“That I also don’t feel like talking about, but only because that part’s boring. Anyway. Long story short--”

“If you prefer,” Carlin replies, though Steve knows Danny wasn’t actually asking for input.

“Long story short,” he repeats, “it’s okay, because Steve McGarrett here, he got me out. I was only in there a couple of days and now I am back on, uh, more or less American soil.”

“More or less American?” Steve echoes, souring. He likes watching Danny engage with their shrink but this, this he does not have patience for. _More or less_ American.

“Detective Williams, you know it bothers Commander McGarrett when you disparage Hawaii this way,” Carlin says, calmly.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Steve corrects. “It pisses me off.”

“Okay, sorry. Sorry, I’m sorry. Back on completely American soil,” Danny says, and Steve’s not exactly satisfied with that apology, but neither does he feel like arguing right this second. Fuck, but he’s tired.

“That sounds like a stressful situation,” Carlin remarks. “I assume, Commander, that you didn’t actually have to travel to Colombia?”

“He did,” Danny says.

“Twice,” Steve adds. “It’s nothing Danny hasn’t done for me.”

“Twice.”

Steve looks over and finds a smirk on Danny’s face.

“How have things been since your return?”

“Fine,” Steve replies, at the same time that Danny says, “boring.”

“Boring?”

“Medical leave, two weeks,” Danny explains. “Almost up. Don’t see why I couldn’t just ride a desk, though--”

“Doctor said bedrest the first week,” Steve cuts in. “ _Bed_ rest. Meaning in bed. And it’s only been two days since you got off of this supposed bedrest.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“And how have you been feeling, Detective? Besides bored?”

“Oh. Uh. How have I been feeling? I dunno.”

“Have you experienced any flashbacks to your time in Colombia?”

“Flashbacks, no, thanks. Coupla nightmares, that’s par for the course.”

“Mm. And what about you, Commander?”

Steve sighs. “I was in and out.”

“So you’ve continued on as usual in the time since Detective Williams’ return?”

“Yeah.”

“How has it been, working without your partner?”

“I’ve had the other guys,” Steve replies. “It’ll be good, havin’ Danny back, but-- you know. He got beat up pretty good, needs to heal up.”

“It’ll be good to have me back?”

“’course it will.”

“Oh.”

“Detective, why are you doubting what Commander McGarrett says?”

“Nothin’.” A beat, then: “just, they all seem to be gettin’ along fine without me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Uh. Well, they had a case. I can tell by lookin’ at him.”

“All right.”

“And he won’t tell me what it was.”

“And that makes you feel… accessory?”

“Useless? No, it doesn’t make me feel useless, but thanks for assuming,” Danny grumbles. “I just, I know he’s protecting me and I don’t want him to feel like he has to protect me. He’s a navy SEAL, I get it, but I’ve been a cop for almost twenty years.”

“Do you feel like you have to protect Detective Williams?”

And there they are again, though he’s kept them at bay for hours. Little faces, ghosts now, and Steve forces himself to breathe evenly.

“Generally, no, I do not. But.”

“But?”

“It was a bad one, Danno,” Steve mutters, not looking at either of them. And to be honest, maybe his hands are shaking.

“What did you say, Commander?”

“I said it was a bad case. Real bad one. Normal circumstances, of course, he’d’ve worked it too but since he didn’t-- figured, why stick him with it if he didn’t need to know?”

Danny stops, considering this-- then starts again. “We’ve never had bad cases before?”

“Danny, it was-- bad bad. Okay?”

“So you are protecting me.”

“Why is that a bad thing? You protect the people you care about, it’s what you do.” He should really stop talking now, but he can’t. “Listen, put it in perspective, okay: if I were out, if you worked this one without me-- I wouldn’t want to know. I would not.”

“That bad?”

“Dead kids. Two dozen dead kids. Happy now, or you need to know more?”

Fuck, he can feel it: pressure in his sinuses, stinging the back of his nose.

Quietly, he draws a deep breath and holds it.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he grunts, but Danny’s finally taken his head out of his own ass and now he’s looking over at Steve with his heart in his eyes. His lips move but he doesn’t make a sound.

 _Steve_?

Steve shakes his head. No matter how small, how quiet their motions, there’s no way of hiding anything here. They’re on display, a living diorama, and he can’t take it. It’s bad enough breaking down alone, worse when Danny sees it, but both of those he can live with. He can’t live with doing it in front of his shrink.

He can’t.

He won’t.

Oh, _fuck_ \--

“Doc,” Danny says, calmly. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Commander McGarrett, you said you don’t want to talk about it. But take a moment to consider that it might help--”

“No, he doesn’t want to talk. Okay? Listen, can we have the room?”

“Detective--”

“Can we _have_ _the room_?”

“I don’t know if--”

“The room, please? I said please,” Danny snaps. This whole thing is almost worth it for the look on the woman’s face as she finally relents to being shooed from her own office.

Danny watches her with satisfaction, then crouches down on the floor beside Steve’s chair. “Babe,” he murmurs, putting a hand on Steve’s knee. The door closes, leaving them alone, and Steve can’t hold it back anymore; he lowers his head and lets the tears fall.

Danny hugs him close. “Hey,” he murmuring. “Hey, Stevie, it’s okay. I’m sorry I made you say it.”

“You d-didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. But I’m glad you told me now.”

“Wanted t’tell you b-before,” Steve gets out.

“Okay. You should have.”

There’s no accusation there, just honest compassion, and so much for just tears because now he’s _sobbing_ ; he burrows tighter into Danny’s embrace, hiding his face against Danny’s collar. “D-didn’t want you-- t’hafta see it all--”

“Protecting me. I get it, I love it. You know stuff with kids gets to me. But here’s the thing, babe: that gets to all of us. Yeah?”

Steve just nods.

“Yeah. That’s why I want you to tell me this stuff. Even the bad stuff. Even the stuff you think you need to protect me from. I’ll say it every damn day ‘til you remember, you goof: I’m here to protect you too.”

Danny lets go, gets up from his knees with a grunt, and nudges Steve’s leg to the side until there’s room for him to perch on the edge of the chair. Steve rubs his eyes, crying a little less by now.

“Can you tell me now?” Danny asks. His warmth at Steve’s side is making it easier to breathe.

So Steve tells him: how it wasn’t a case, exactly, how a morning of trying to disconnect, trying to look after himself a little turned into a siege in a barbershop, because of course it did. Tells him about Eran, and how it all seemed at first. This, he gets through more or less calmly, more or less just reporting the facts-- and then come Eran’s father, the pier, the basement.

And no, he’s not _calm_ anymore for this. He’s starting to shake again, and Danny’s rubbing his arms up and down like maybe he thinks Steve’s cold.

“There was-- stuff down there, you know? Kid stuff. Clothes. Stuffed animals. Little princess crown. Little-- little red shoe on the floor--”

“Hey,” Danny soothes, when his voice gives out on him. But Steve clears his throat, presses on.

“Found a box of pictures. Polaroids. Had ‘em together on a loop like flashcards, easy to flip through-- pictures of all the kids he’d taken. All the kids he’d killed. God, Danny, they were-- little kids, you know, three, four-- all scuffed up an’ just-- just--”

“It’s okay, you’re okay--”

“And this was the person I’d protected all morning, y’know? It made me sick. I thought I was gonna be sick, thinkin’ about-- he played the part so well. Seemed like a scared kid but he was a m-monster and I-- I let people die to protect him, I killed to protect him, and he-- god, he was-- he was a--”

“You stopped him. You stopped him now.”

“Not in time,” Steve weeps, leaning against Danny’s side, seeking the stillness there. “I read-- I read about it, you know, I even asked the governor but he said-- he said the profilers were on it, said it wasn’t the kind of case Five-0’s best at.”

“It’s not. It’s not our thing.”

“We’ve worked cases like it before. We could’ve tried. I should’ve-- I shoulda-- shoulda worked it anyway, m’ybe I coulda-- maybe I coulda--”

“Stop,” Danny whispers. “Stevie. Stop.”

“I wanted to tell you, Danny,” Steve says, catching his breath. “But I’m so-- I feel so--”

“Something bad happened on your island,” Danny murmurs. “I get it. I get it, babe, but you cannot-- are you listening to me? If there were a thousand Steve McGarretts, I guess we’d just put you all in charge of the universe and everything would be okay. But there’s not. There’s one. And that one has already done more than enough good for his lifetime. And I love you for thinking it’s not enough. But babe, you gotta stop. You gotta stop that, like, yesterday. Please.”

Steve makes himself nod, mopping under his nose with the collar of his t-shirt. “Yeah. Yeah. I just-- god. All else aside, I just wasn’t _ready_ for it.”

“Who is?”

“I should be. Seen shit this bad. But I just-- I keep thinkin’-- why? Why, ten minutes down the road, is there stuff just as bad as in any war zone? This is-- this is normal life, civilian life, why’s it-- why’s it just as bad? ‘snot-- it’s not supposed to be this bad here-- why’s it so bad here?”

“Your island,” Danny repeats, softly. “Babe, I hear you. I hear you.”

He’s crying hard again, so hard now he thinks he might puke. Still he can’t reel it back. It’s all been uncorked and he can’t stop this new gush of it-- of grief, guilt, tears. He doesn’t even try.

Danny doesn’t say anything else for a while, then; he just stays there with an arm around Steve’s back, letting him cry his heart out, letting him cry ‘til he’s empty. Tears drip down his cheeks, off his chin. Most of them splash into his lap, but Danny catches a few of them with the side of his hand.

That kind of helps, for some reason.                                                                                    

When it’s finally over Danny lets go, comes back with a handful of tissues. He perches on the arm of the chair and rubs Steve’s shoulder while he blows his nose a half-dozen times then scrubs his face dry.

“Let’s get you home,” Danny coaxes. “You take a shower, we’ll order takeout. I could go or I could stay.”

Steve leans his head on Danny’s arm. “Yeah,” he gets out, still panting a little. Carlin probably needs her office back, anyway.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll be home in twenty,” Danny says, and unflinchingly scoops the pile of soggy tissues out of Steve’s lap, tossing them in the wastebasket as Steve gets shakily to his feet. Then he tucks an arm around Steve’s waist.

Steve keeps his head down as Danny leads him out, feeling oversized and obvious and wishing they could just be at the car already. At least Danny’s walking quickly. It’s ten kinds of embarrassing that he just bawled like a baby in therapy; yeah Carlin wasn’t there, but she obviously knew what was happening, and if she didn’t it’ll be clear enough when they see her.

If they see her.

God, he hopes they don’t see her.

“Gentlemen?”

Steve glances up, just a little, at the familiar voice; Carlin is perching on the edge of her secretary’s desk, on her phone. He looks away but still feels her taking him in: puffy-eyed, crusty-nosed. But Danny takes over then.

“Doc,” he greets, amiably. “Long coupla weeks. ‘ppreciate you understanding.”

Steve almost laughs at how effectively this subdues her.

“Headin’ out for today,” Danny continues, “but we’ll see you. Two weeks, yeah? Take care.”

And then Danny sweeps him away, past the bookshelves and along the sandy carpet, out of the office, and into daylight beyond.

**Author's Note:**

> Tra-la-la. Watch me write more H50 slop instead of my Musketeers chapterfic, or my blog, or my papers. Oops.


End file.
